Tuesday, April 30, 2013
Friday, March 15, 2013
Contravening Characteristics
In Cry, the Beloved Country, Alan Paton displays a variety of attributes through the well-rounded main character, Steven Kumalo, and utilizes symbols that represent greater things. Throughout the story, Steven Kumalo, a spiritual and genial man, is faced with numerous dreadful situations where he is pushed to his limit and shows several sides of his personality. He is considered a dynamic character because he endures events where he is at a loss of words, at a loss of faith, and at a loss of hope. Steven Kumalo represents more than just a two dimensional persona; he mirrors the characteristics that we, as humans see in ourselves.
Steven Kumalo also is a man of virtue and generosity. Even though he does not agree with his sister’s promiscuous past and his spending money is scarce, Kumalo “bought [Gertrude] a red dress and a white [turban]”. By letting virtue and God lead him in life, Kumalo accepts Gertrude’s past flagitious choices, and helps provide for her future. In another instance, his merit is shown by his refusal to let Msimangu for their taxi ride. Again, although money is scarce, Kumalo appreciates the offer that Msimangu made, but insists “no one must pay but [him]”. This shows that Steven Kumalo is generous not only with his kin, but with others around him.
Although Steven Kumalo is a priest who trusts the Lord to guide him through his path of life, he also loses faith. This shows yet another side of his character. Though God serves as Steven’s support system, “There’s no prayer left in [him]” after he goes through the travail of his son being placed in jail. As a priest, one's faith is always assumed to be intact, even when one's life is falling apart. However, Kumalo lets this bond that he has with God crumbled completely in this one instance, making their relationship forever changed. This is not only a contradiction of himself, but also his faith, the very thing that he stands for the most.
At the beginning of the novel, Steven Kumalo is represented as a good-hearted man of faith and virtue. As his character ventures on through the book, the drastic change of course does not only change Absolom's life, but also his father's. After hearing a sermon by Msimangu, Kumalo is spiritually "recovered". In contrast, by the end of Book I, Kumalo is quite the opposite, Kumalo is "ashamed" for his "cruelty" against Absolom's bride to be. Not only is Kumalo vulgar, he is inconsiderate of her fragile state. People looked towards Kumalo as someone to trust in, someone they could rely on. Now, he is nothing but cruel. The awful circumstances that he has been put in have made his heart cold to people and the world. Though he may feel resentment against himself for his harsh actions, there is no going back. All that Kumalo represented is but a contradiction.
By utilizing symbols that represent greater things, Alan Paton is able to display Steven Kumalo as the well rounded and dynamic character that he is. His struggles with faith and hope contravene with his occupation and life style. Through the toil in his private and personal life with not only his son, but himself; the audience is able to see their own characteristics mirrored.
Sunday, November 25, 2012
Cigarettes and Sweet Tea
My swollen eyes survey the faces of those I used to know so well. Guilt takes the shape of tears. Sandy tells me how pretty I’ve gotten as I give her an awkward hug. A slightly plumper woman than Sandy who seems to know me says goodbye. I feel a pang in my chest as I pretend to remember her.
No longer am I a six year old princess; I am a fifteen year old traitor. Disgust fills my mind as I struggle to breathe because of my betrayal.
My dad escorts me to his red Suzuki, the only thing that can provide me with any comfort. When I situate myself in my dad’s car, I avert my eyes to the window. Tears that I’d been holding back now freely fall down my face.
“Hug your brother, he’s had a hard day.” My dad’s says.
“I already did!” I shriek, not wanting my dad or brother to see my face.
Alas, I gave my brother what we call a ‘normal’ hug through the window. He tousles my hair and makes it seem as he would hurt me to cheer me up. He departs to his car, and I am left with my dad.
Instead of waiting for him to talk about how much we loved GrannyBee, I turn on his CD player. Music drowns out the sounds of my poorly hidden sobs and my dad’s attempts to start a conversation.
Mumford and Sons becomes the soundtrack of my sorrows.
Traitor.
The climax of the song rings throughout the car, my black sweater balled in my fists as I try cling on to the fading scent of cigarettes.
My dad escorts me to his red Suzuki, the only thing that can provide me with any comfort. When I situate myself in my dad’s car, I avert my eyes to the window. Tears that I’d been holding back now freely fall down my face.
“Hug your brother, he’s had a hard day.” My dad’s says.
“I already did!” I shriek, not wanting my dad or brother to see my face.
Alas, I gave my brother what we call a ‘normal’ hug through the window. He tousles my hair and makes it seem as he would hurt me to cheer me up. He departs to his car, and I am left with my dad.
Instead of waiting for him to talk about how much we loved GrannyBee, I turn on his CD player. Music drowns out the sounds of my poorly hidden sobs and my dad’s attempts to start a conversation.
Mumford and Sons becomes the soundtrack of my sorrows.
Traitor.
The climax of the song rings throughout the car, my black sweater balled in my fists as I try cling on to the fading scent of cigarettes.
“I will hold on”
“Hailey?” GrannyBee’s voice croaks, “Do you want some sweet tea?”
“Sure!”
I hop up from my respected spot on the floor of GrannyBee's and Soto Man's living room. My feet drag on the cold, creaky floorboards. GrannyBee is at the stove cooking hash browns. She scrunches up her face while she squints at the searing hot pan.
Opening the freezer door, I reach up on my tip toes to reach the ice holder. As always, I find the dark blue, square container. Putting pressure on the miniature sized squares, I pop out a few ice cubes into a fuchsia colored cup that GrannyBee set out for me. GrannyBee retreats from the stove to retrieve the sweet tea for me.
She sets it on the table as I sit down at their wooden, oval table that always seemed to have potatoes resting on it. I pour myself a glass of tea as I dive into the Hostess Cinnabons that GrannyBee and Soto Man have handy every time we visit.
My face and fingers are already covered in sweetly sticky icing by the time GrannyBee places a plate of steaming hash browns on the table for my brother to eat after Soto Man and he get back from fishing. As she shakily takes a seat across from me, I am surrounded by the ironically comforting smell of cigarettes. A goofy smile spreads across my face as I am yet again reminded how I never want to leave my GrannyBee’s side.
“Sure!”
I hop up from my respected spot on the floor of GrannyBee's and Soto Man's living room. My feet drag on the cold, creaky floorboards. GrannyBee is at the stove cooking hash browns. She scrunches up her face while she squints at the searing hot pan.
Opening the freezer door, I reach up on my tip toes to reach the ice holder. As always, I find the dark blue, square container. Putting pressure on the miniature sized squares, I pop out a few ice cubes into a fuchsia colored cup that GrannyBee set out for me. GrannyBee retreats from the stove to retrieve the sweet tea for me.
She sets it on the table as I sit down at their wooden, oval table that always seemed to have potatoes resting on it. I pour myself a glass of tea as I dive into the Hostess Cinnabons that GrannyBee and Soto Man have handy every time we visit.
My face and fingers are already covered in sweetly sticky icing by the time GrannyBee places a plate of steaming hash browns on the table for my brother to eat after Soto Man and he get back from fishing. As she shakily takes a seat across from me, I am surrounded by the ironically comforting smell of cigarettes. A goofy smile spreads across my face as I am yet again reminded how I never want to leave my GrannyBee’s side.
“I will hold on”
After an afternoon of watching Dinosaurs, Maddy, Emmy, and I are ravenous for something new, something scary. “Please Soto Man?” With three pairs of porcelain-shaped eyes on him, Soto Man complies.
My GrannyBee takes a slow drag of her cigarette to contemplate whether or not to allow the doe-eyed six year old girls under her care to watch a horror movie. After an entire glass of sweet tea and a few pleas later, she finally agrees to let us watch two old scary movies. The two thrilling classics leave me breathless and paranoid. Not as paranoid as Maddy, though. Maddy's wails are heard throughout the quaint home. Swinging her head violently from side to side, she refuses to enter GrannyBee’s bedroom.
“There’s nothing to be scared of, Maddy!” GrannyBee and Soto Man insisted.
Cursing in Spanish, Soto Man removes himself from the depleting couch, annoyed. As if Soto Man had grown protective armor and a shield appeared in his hand, he took a step into the bedroom to fight off the possessing vampire or crazy neighbor from the movies. I watch as Sir Soto Man, my knight in shining armor, takes a 180 degree turn, so he can face us. There aren’t any murderous villains or ferocious beasts gnawing on his shoulder. He stands there, a knight in a misbuttoned, flannel shirt, with the sleeves cut off and grease-stained jeans and thick books.
Cursing in Spanish, Soto Man removes himself from the depleting couch, annoyed. As if Soto Man had grown protective armor and a shield appeared in his hand, he took a step into the bedroom to fight off the possessing vampire or crazy neighbor from the movies. I watch as Sir Soto Man, my knight in shining armor, takes a 180 degree turn, so he can face us. There aren’t any murderous villains or ferocious beasts gnawing on his shoulder. He stands there, a knight in a misbuttoned, flannel shirt, with the sleeves cut off and grease-stained jeans and thick books.
Maddy and Emmy trample over each other into GrannyBee's room to get ready for bed. Still convinced that the mythical monster will devour my six year old body alive, I stay in the safety of the living room.
"There's nothing to be scared of, baby girl." My knight gives me a wide smile, his cigarette stained teeth peeking through his permanently chapped lips. Taking a step toward me, he embraces me, and I am once again comforted by the overpowering scent of cigarettes.
I am no longer afraid.
“Hold”
I blink several times to let my eyes adjust to the dark. My breath catches as I stare at my frail GrannyBee who sleeps next to me. At first, her slumped over body makes no movement. No longer can I smell the thick scent of cigarettes that seem to drip out of her pores. Focusing my eyes on her, I see her steady breath going in and out. I exhale, relieved. Her comforting cigarette fumes return to me.
My tense body relaxes as I turn onto my back to face the ceiling. I blink back tears that have formed in my eyes. From the time I’ve had a clear understanding of death, the horrific fear of waking up to my GrannyBee, dead, has clouded my mind. I exhale once again as I realize that this horrific scene is only still a fear.
Quietly, I tilt my head so that my eyes fall on my resting GrannyBee again. A shaky laugh escapes my lips as I think to myself, like so many times before, how much I never want to leave my GrannyBee’s and Soto Man’s house. Memories rush to my mind about how I used to hide under my Soto Man’s truck to hide from my parents, “I don’t wanna go home!” My shrill shrieks shaking the sweet tea in my GrannyBee's dark blue cup.
I promise myself to always come back to see my GrannyBee and Soto Man, no matter how old I get. I will waltz up to their doorstep, let myself inside, and go to sit in my respected chair at their worn down kitchen table when I'm 27. Though, it will be different then. Instead of GrannyBee and Soto Man taking care of me, I will take care of them. I will repay them for being like grandparents to me from the time I was born, to right now as a melodramatic pre-teen. I will be the one to boil the water for the sweet tea.
My tense body relaxes as I turn onto my back to face the ceiling. I blink back tears that have formed in my eyes. From the time I’ve had a clear understanding of death, the horrific fear of waking up to my GrannyBee, dead, has clouded my mind. I exhale once again as I realize that this horrific scene is only still a fear.
Quietly, I tilt my head so that my eyes fall on my resting GrannyBee again. A shaky laugh escapes my lips as I think to myself, like so many times before, how much I never want to leave my GrannyBee’s and Soto Man’s house. Memories rush to my mind about how I used to hide under my Soto Man’s truck to hide from my parents, “I don’t wanna go home!” My shrill shrieks shaking the sweet tea in my GrannyBee's dark blue cup.
I promise myself to always come back to see my GrannyBee and Soto Man, no matter how old I get. I will waltz up to their doorstep, let myself inside, and go to sit in my respected chair at their worn down kitchen table when I'm 27. Though, it will be different then. Instead of GrannyBee and Soto Man taking care of me, I will take care of them. I will repay them for being like grandparents to me from the time I was born, to right now as a melodramatic pre-teen. I will be the one to boil the water for the sweet tea.
“I will hold on”
A mixture of guilt and disgust fills my lungs as I rest my head on the car’s window. I did not keep my promise. I promised to come back; I promised that I would return the favor of them caring for me. The last time I saw my GrannyBee was at Soto Man’s funeral a few months before. Before that, it must have been a year before I last saw either GrannyBee or Soto Man.
My body slumps and I am thrown into a pool of regret and sorrow. I cannot escape this spiraling down, drowning sensation. I know I will never be able to shake this off. Sorrow and longing are no longer emotions, they are a part of me. I long for the days when I was a naive six year old princess who would run around my GrannyBee's and Soto Man's back yard without a care in the world. I long for the days when my innocence protected me from any form of trouble, acting as a shield for my mistakes.
Most of all, though, I long for the times of cigarettes and sweet tea.
My body slumps and I am thrown into a pool of regret and sorrow. I cannot escape this spiraling down, drowning sensation. I know I will never be able to shake this off. Sorrow and longing are no longer emotions, they are a part of me. I long for the days when I was a naive six year old princess who would run around my GrannyBee's and Soto Man's back yard without a care in the world. I long for the days when my innocence protected me from any form of trouble, acting as a shield for my mistakes.
Most of all, though, I long for the times of cigarettes and sweet tea.
“I will hold on hope”
Sunday, October 28, 2012
Do he scraaaaaaaaaatch? Do he biiiiiiiiiiiite?
Most children begin their reading with fluffy and adorable little books with vibrant pictures to guide their young minds to learn words like cat and turtle. Unfortunately, my story on learning how to read was just as dull. I wish I could say that my dying uncle's great aunt on his father's side taught me how to read by locking me in a cubpord with dark poetry. Alas, the way that I learned how to read was simply my parents reading a book about sea animals, which would lead me to point and ask the same question about every animal in the book, "Do he scraaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaatch? Do he biiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiite?"
As I grew more into adolence, AR become maditory. Therefore, I turned against reading. The Magic Tree House Books? Disgusting. Nancy Drew? I'd rather regurgitate. The only books that I read, and actually enjoyed, during the dark days of AR were The Boxcar Children and Harry Potter. Still, I do recall my parents forcing me to read for thirty minutes a day for AR. Of course, none of those thirty minutes were spent reading, they were spent crying at my unfair life. How could they force me, a privilaged and growing child, to read a book? Even the thought of it should be a crime.
Years after these dark days, though, I finally saw the light. The golden and glorious day came where reading wasn't just a tedious thing to do anymore. It was the first time my family was meeting my baby cousin, Joey, and on the first day he was off to take a nap, and I was stuck with the old folks. After a few minutes of heavy sighing and asking my cousin Ronda when Joey was to wake, my mom told me that she had brought me a book that I could read. Boredom had sunk in me already, so I decided, what the hay? Why not? I went into the back room and started on the book The Dairy Queen. It was a book about a teenage girl who loved football and wanted to play on the football team. What inticed me the most was the love affair in it was the girl and the boy who was trying to train her to make the football team. I finished the book during Joey's nap breaks in the span of that week.
After that, I was hooked on reading. Instead of asking for a Barbie for Christmas, I would give my mom a list of forty books with stars by the ones I wanted the most. Of course, she wouldn't buy all of the books on the list, but I'd still get a few.
Books let me escape from reality, therefore I love them so. Unfortunately, with school and wasting my time not studying for that test on Thursday, I haven't been able to read as much as I used to. I miss it so much, but now I don't have time to wait until page sixty to get past the boring explanation they always do at the beginning. Now, I have to get captivated by the book on the first page.All in all, reading is therapeutic for me. Everyone needs an escape from reality. While reading, I can go through a metamorphosis. I can change from being a sardonic, and giggly teenage girl to a psychopath who lives in an insane asylum. I can be anyone who I want to be through reading books.
The question is, though, who do I want to be next?
As I grew more into adolence, AR become maditory. Therefore, I turned against reading. The Magic Tree House Books? Disgusting. Nancy Drew? I'd rather regurgitate. The only books that I read, and actually enjoyed, during the dark days of AR were The Boxcar Children and Harry Potter. Still, I do recall my parents forcing me to read for thirty minutes a day for AR. Of course, none of those thirty minutes were spent reading, they were spent crying at my unfair life. How could they force me, a privilaged and growing child, to read a book? Even the thought of it should be a crime.
Years after these dark days, though, I finally saw the light. The golden and glorious day came where reading wasn't just a tedious thing to do anymore. It was the first time my family was meeting my baby cousin, Joey, and on the first day he was off to take a nap, and I was stuck with the old folks. After a few minutes of heavy sighing and asking my cousin Ronda when Joey was to wake, my mom told me that she had brought me a book that I could read. Boredom had sunk in me already, so I decided, what the hay? Why not? I went into the back room and started on the book The Dairy Queen. It was a book about a teenage girl who loved football and wanted to play on the football team. What inticed me the most was the love affair in it was the girl and the boy who was trying to train her to make the football team. I finished the book during Joey's nap breaks in the span of that week.
After that, I was hooked on reading. Instead of asking for a Barbie for Christmas, I would give my mom a list of forty books with stars by the ones I wanted the most. Of course, she wouldn't buy all of the books on the list, but I'd still get a few.
Books let me escape from reality, therefore I love them so. Unfortunately, with school and wasting my time not studying for that test on Thursday, I haven't been able to read as much as I used to. I miss it so much, but now I don't have time to wait until page sixty to get past the boring explanation they always do at the beginning. Now, I have to get captivated by the book on the first page.All in all, reading is therapeutic for me. Everyone needs an escape from reality. While reading, I can go through a metamorphosis. I can change from being a sardonic, and giggly teenage girl to a psychopath who lives in an insane asylum. I can be anyone who I want to be through reading books.
The question is, though, who do I want to be next?
Wednesday, September 19, 2012
I Am
I am a walking hyperbole
I wonder if I'm ever going to be good enough
I hear the sound of the stage lights switching on, and the crowd roaring my name
I see weird looks being thrown my way
I want to like coffee, but every time I try to drink it, I vomit salamanders
I am a walking hyperbole
I pretend that I have no feelings
I feel my mind traveling back to New York City
I touch my blushed face that deepens to a red hot chillli pepper color
I worry that I'm still a worry wart
I cry over British television
I am a walking hyperbole
I understand that laughter is the best medicine, so watch Modern Family when you're sad
I say that it's too late to apologize (IT'S TOO LATE)
I dream to magically grow super long legs
I try not to get arrested
I hope never to have to use the bathroom on an airplane ever again
I am a walking hyperbole
I wonder if I'm ever going to be good enough
I hear the sound of the stage lights switching on, and the crowd roaring my name
I see weird looks being thrown my way
I want to like coffee, but every time I try to drink it, I vomit salamanders
I am a walking hyperbole
I pretend that I have no feelings
I feel my mind traveling back to New York City
I touch my blushed face that deepens to a red hot chillli pepper color
I worry that I'm still a worry wart
I cry over British television
I am a walking hyperbole
I understand that laughter is the best medicine, so watch Modern Family when you're sad
I say that it's too late to apologize (IT'S TOO LATE)
I dream to magically grow super long legs
I try not to get arrested
I hope never to have to use the bathroom on an airplane ever again
I am a walking hyperbole
Wednesday, August 29, 2012
Army Pants and Flip Flops
"I saw Cady Heron wearing army pants and flip flops, so I bought army pants and flip flops."
Whether intentional or not, the decisions you make can influence a choice another individual makes. The same can be said about another person having an impact on you; something he or she says or does can influence an opinion you have or something you do. Maybe you decide to avoid a certain food because you saw a health advisory on the news, or maybe you decide to buy a particular brand of jeans because you saw your favorite celebrity wearing them.
In "The Handsomest Drowned Man in the World," Esteban affects an entire village so much that they change their lifestyle and life choices simply because his corpse washed up from the sea. They drop everything they're doing and tend to this deceased man, creating havoc not just in their own village, but also in the neighboring villages. The men determinedly searched left and right to find the mysterious man's home. The women fawned over him, sewing him clothes and cleaning his body to reveal a now, gorgeous face. Obviously, Esteban was unaware of the reaction that his remains left. Fortunately for him, his impact was a positive one on the village. Unknowingly, Esteban made a small area put themselves to the test, making them determined to find his home and make him comfortable. Although, in life, not everyone is going to leave such an impact behind. For instance, in the major motion picture Mean Girls, Regina George demands to leave the all-girl conference held in the gymnasium. Thus, Ms. Norbury asks the popular line, "How many of you have ever felt personally victimized by Regina George?" Everyone in the gymnasium, including teachers, raises their hands. Regina's actions and words, in comparison to Esteban's, were so negative that the whole student body and staff were affected by them. Although her impact was horrible, everyone still wanted approval from Regina. The females even went as far as to cut holes out of their shirts, just because Regina did. The point is, one person can truly change someone's life by their actions or words. We could be like Esteban, whose inspirational action was just his dead body drifting to shore, or we could be like Regina George who was a bully and left a negative impact or anyone that was encountered. The choice is yours, so choose wisely.
Even after Esteban's body had been shipped back out to sea, his spirit remained with the village, affecting how they lived their lives. The locals created houses with larger room and door frames, all in the name of Esteban because he was a giant. To me, this symbolized when a person in the public eye passes away, that individual continues to impact people, even from beyond the grave. When Steven Jobs passed away, the legacy he left behind was astounding. In death, he still remains not only to weigh in on someone's choice on whether they purchase a laptop, or an iPad, but also to inspire a person to strive for their dreams, and possibly become an entrepreneur. Steven Jobs' story is alike Esteban's in the ways of people changing how they lived after he was gone, just because people admired him.
In life, everyone is going to have someone who has a certain influence over a decision that they make. Whether intentional or not, what you say or do could affect an entire nation. Or, maybe just your high school.
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